Of Some Hidden Time
by CalicoKitten
Summary: While on an errand, Kamio meets a familiar face in an unexpected way.


Disclaimer:  Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi.

Author's Notes:  At the end of the story.

Of Some Hidden Time

By CalicoKitten

Walking, Kamio decided, was entirely overrated.  Granted, he covered more ground than the usual person due to his natural speed, but having a bike made it a lot easier to get around.  When he had a bike, the traffic of people annoyed him less, and the ride made him generally happy.

Of course, the words to dwell upon would be 'had a bike'.

Stupid Momoshiro.

He clutched the bag of food closer to his chest as he tried to travel around an old lady.  She wobbled back and forth, eyes ignoring the people around her as she screamed away on her cell phone.  Ducking quickly under the raised arm of a tall man, he managed to squeeze past her, though he was sure she gave him a quick smack with her cane for doing so.

Stupid old ladies.

Yes, so he wasn't in the best of moods today.  Not only did his parents call him to buy groceries AFTER tennis practice, they had to send him to the busiest marketplace in the city.  He seriously doubted that the long trip home was justified by the quality of vegetables he'd gotten.

Stupid vegetables.

He glared irritably at the lively colors in his bag as he stopped at a crosswalk, waiting impatiently for the sign to change.  Several people behind him jaywalked across the street, and Kamio secretly hoped there was a police officer around to catch the plethora of evil law-breaking citizens.  But, of course, luck ignored his vindictive fantasies towards the criminals ahead.

Adjusting the tennis equipment perched atop his shoulder, he tapped his foot on the ground, wishing he had his cd player to listen to.  He looked down at his watch.  Five minutes.  The light still remained at the 'do not walk' color, and he stood as the only person waiting for it to change.

Kamio cursed loudly but with much less satisfaction since there was no one left to hear him.  He briefly wondered if he should cross the street anyway, yet his principles told him not to do what he didn't like others doing.  He cursed again, blaming his set of ethics and the theory of hypocrisy.

Tick tock.

…

Tick tock.

…

Tick tock.

Minutes flew by as Kamio stubbornly waited there, ignoring many who came up to him and told him that it was safe to cross.  Scowling darkly, he glared at the tiny traffic light with hatred.  His watch ticked loudly, and he clutched the bag of groceries so hard that the vegetables were sure to be bruised when he got home.  

Tick tock.

His watch annoyed him greatly today.  Not only did the constant ticking alert him to the fact that precious minutes of his life were wasting away by stubbornly standing there, it let him see the minutes in full.  Eyes tearing away from the light, he briefly glanced down to glower at the shiny surface of time.

When he looked back, he found the 'walk' sign glowing.

_Finally, _he thought to himself, securing the hold on his bag and stepping out into the street.

He smiled happily to himself while ignoring the fact that he was the only one crossing.  Halfway across the street, a plump red apple sitting on the top of his purchases rolled precariously to the edge of the paper.  Glowering at it, Kamio made death threats in his head in case it decided to fall.

It did.

He let out a sigh of frustration, carefully bending down to pick up the apple.  As he placed it securely in his bag again, he resolved to make an effort to eat the apple himself.  Of course, it would probably give him food poisoning, the wicked apple that it was.

He glanced over his shoulder as he slowly rose, not wanting to drop anything else.  The 'walk' signal still shone, but as he lowered his eyes to the street, he saw a red convertible speeding his way.  He scoffed.  At the speed it was traveling, to any other onlooker it would seem like the symbol of doom.

In Kamio's case, he relied on his speed to get out of little situations like these, and he briefly recalled a scene in his childhood in which he'd almost gotten run over by a car.  He was little then, and sure of his speed, so when he'd raced out to get his ball, he hadn't been scared at all.  Nevertheless, he'd always had bad experiences with cars.

_I heard four of their regulars got into a car accident today._

He shook the painful memory away as he looked back to the red convertible looming ahead.  He quickly began to cross the street, making sure that his groceries were kept from jostling over the edge of their container again.

However, once he had almost reached the sidewalk, he heard the quick movements of a person running towards him.  Confused, he turned around while still walking, seeing a deserted street – the complete opposite of the utter chaos from earlier -  until he spotted a tall figure rushing directly at him.

"What the f…"

His words cut off as the figure crashed headlong into him, toppling them both onto the sidewalk.  The tennis bag upon his shoulder flew sideways while the groceries he spent his precious time getting soared out of his arms, leaving a colorful splatter on the street behind them as the perpetrator landed none-so-gently upon him.

Meanwhile, the red convertible slowly zoomed past.

                                                                       *  *  *

Kamio blinked several times to clear his head from the sharp impact it took from the fall.  Groaning inwardly, he tried to lift himself up but couldn't, feeling a heavy weight on top of him.  Dazedly, he wondered if he was going to be robbed.

"Are you okay?" a familiar voice asked as the heavy body on top of him lifted upwards.

He squinted, eyes focusing on the shockingly orange hair and slightly lazy eyes gazing down upon him.  The other's eyes widened along with Kamio's as they both recognized the person before them.

Kamio's first words were instinctive.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?!"

Sengoku blinked his eyes rapidly, seeming as if he did not quite believe it was Kamio before him.  Then, slowly, his corners of his mouth gradually turned upward as he pushed himself farther up, arms on either side of Kamio's head.

"Well, that isn't a nice thing to say to a person who just saved your life, now is it?" he teased.

Kamio grit his teeth in anger.  The other boy obviously thought himself heroic, though all he had managed to accomplish was to destroy Kamio's groceries and to cause him possible bodily harm.

"You didn't save my life, idiot!  Do you realize how slow that car was going?  Didn't you think that I would be fast enough to outrun it, even if it hadn't been slowing down?!  I was right next to the sidewalk!" he spat out angrily.

Sengoku appeared to think about it for a moment, head tilted slightly while he looked at Kamio's angry expression.  Then he smiled cheerfully and said, "Actually, I didn't really know it was you."

Kamio sputtered furiously, intent on pointing out that his red hair and tennis equipment with the Fudomine sticker on it could have possibly alerted Sengoku to his presence.  Before he could do so, Sengoku shrugged casually, sticking his finger out and poking Kamio in the nose with it.

"Maa.  No one was hurt.  An honest mistake on my part – just trying to do something nice, you know?"

Growling, he tried to shove the other boy off of him, but Sengoku had already picked himself up off Kamio.  He grimaced when the shove caused his head to throb painfully.

Sengoku had the grace to look worried.  "Kamio-kun, are you okay?"

Kamio bit off the immediate sarcastic response to his words and carefully sat up, eyeing with distrust the hand offered to him.

"You've no reason to distrust me, Kamio-kun.  We've played tennis together, after all," Sengoku told him, still smiling sheepishly.

He stopped himself from retorting to that particular comment, resigning himself to taking the proffered hand and being pulled to his feet.  Wincing at the absence of the ground behind his head, he roughly jerked his hand away from Sengoku once he was sure he could stand properly.

Sengoku looked quite guilty as Kamio rubbed the back of his head.  Kamio pointedly ignored him and instead sought his tennis equipment, unzipping the bags to make sure nothing was broken.  He sighed loudly when he found that they weren't and looked around again.

His heart nearly stopped.  

There, in the middle of the street, lay the food he had bought.  Once groceries, they were now smashed, damaged, and ruined beyond belief.  He looked with horror at them, realizing that the red car had run them over and that the apple he said he was going to eat was nothing but a stain on the road.

Sengoku was so going to pay for this.

He rounded on the orange-haired tennis player, prepared to give him the worst verbal thrashing of his life when he suddenly stopped.

Sengoku's anguished face peered down on him, looking over his shoulder at the destroyed food.  He reached out, grabbed Kamio by the shoulders, and rested his forehead roughly on Kamio's shoulder.

"Aack!  I'm so sorry, Kamio-kun!"

Disturbed by the sudden weight, Kamio tried to dislodge Sengoku.  "Oi!  Get off!"

"Aa, aa," Sengoku replied, hanging his head slightly as he moved away.  "Gomen, Kamio-kun.  I really thought I was doing the decent thing by trying to save a person in distress.  I guess the food wasn't that lucky…"

Kamio ignored him again, walking over to his tennis gear and picking it up.  Shouldering past Sengoku, who still looked regretful, he fumed silently to himself.  Today was such a big waste of time.

Stopping abruptly as a hand grabbed his wrist, he turned around to meet Sengoku again.

"Ah, I'm really sorry," the Yamabuki player told him sincerely.  "Tell you what.  Why don't we go and replace them?  I'll pay, since it is kind of my fault."

Kamio's eyebrow began to twitch.  "Kind of?  …Kind of?  It is your fault!  And do you know what time it is?  I have to get home soon, and most of the markets are probably closed by now!"

He punctuated the end of his tirade by throwing his arms out, wanting to hit the All-Japan player as he did so.  Instead, he resorted to wallowing in self-pity.

His other eyebrow twitched erratically as Sengoku laughed out loud, clutching his stomach with one hand.

"What's so funny?!" Kamio hissed angrily.

Sengoku chuckled, the laughter subsiding as he held out a hand in vain to ward off Kamio's rage.  "Oh, nothing.  It's just that I've always thought you looked like the type prone to anger."

Embarrassment, pain, and resentment rose in Kamio at the remark, and he turned away from Sengoku and moved rapidly down the street, putting as much distance between them as he could without running.  He heard footsteps behind him and was not surprised to feel the strong grip of a hand upon his arm.

He tried to pry the stubborn thing off.  "What, come to insult me more?"

"I'm sorry," the other boy said solemnly.

"Fine."

Sengoku refused to let his arm go as Kamio tugged even harder.  "Really, Kamio-kun, I am.  Let me make it up to you!"

He winked as Kamio gave him another suspicious look.

"Let me take you to the store to replace the items.  I know it won't be market fresh, but it'll still be food."

Thinking about the offer, Kamio failed to notice the grip on his arm tighten.  Sengoku put his other arm around the red-haired boy's shoulders, and with a slight shove, he turned Kamio to the left and began walking.

"Hey!  Who said I wanted to come?"

Sengoku smiled, and the glint on his perfectly white teeth made Kamio want to punch them out.  "Oh, but it feels lucky to go shopping right now.  Beautiful day, too, you know."

"Shut up," Kamio answered, frowning and not bothering to hide it.

His life was so wasting away its time.

                                                                       *  *  *

"I thought we were just going grocery shopping," Kamio muttered darkly, giving Sengoku wary looks over the top of his menu.

His gaze turned down to the food items listed below, eyes widening as they took in the prices.  Wondering if he had enough money to pay for the dinner, he idly fingered the wallet in his pocket.

Sengoku noticed his distress and pulled Kamio's menu away from his face.  "Don't worry.  It's my treat."

"No, it's not," Kamio insisted, surprised that he was no longer irritated by the lingering presence of Yamabuki's star player.  He put his menu down and discreetly took his wallet out from under the table, mentally counting the bills within.

"Ah, yes, we're ready to order," the voice of the other suddenly said jovially.  "Hmm…How about I take this, and he can have this.  And two waters, please."

"Hey!" he snapped irritably, and the waitress turned around questioningly.  "Who said you could order for me?"

Sengoku waved the waitress away.  "Well, I've been here before, and it is my treat.  Besides, I invited you, and you don't have much money."

Kamio blushed hotly under the mention of poverty.  "I am NOT poor!"

The other boy looked taken aback.  "I never said you were."

Flushing again, he tried to keep his temper under control.  It was amazing that the player could rouse up such feelings of resentment and annoyance in him like Seigaku's Momoshiro did on a regular basis.  He frowned.

"I didn't want water," he said, sulking.

"When I'm paying, you do!" Sengoku replied merrily.  "Besides, I don't think you need any of that caffeine from coffee or anything.  It's not good for you, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed, acutely aware of his hot temper but only bothering to keep his voice down.

Sengoku scratched his head sheepishly and glanced at Kamio.  "Well, it's just that you always look so tired, Kamio-kun.  You should get more rest and stop stressing out."

He resisted the urge to pound his fist against the table.  "I do NOT stress out!"

Briefly he considered kicking Sengoku under the table with his foot.  The statement about him always being tired bothered him, and he felt offended by the simple statement that was meant to be innocent.

A shuffle of clothes caught his attention, and he frowned yet again as Sengoku said, "Maybe this isn't such a lucky day.  I seem to keep offending you."

Sighing loudly, he shook his head, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at the other boy.  "...No.  It's me.  Today's just been a bad day."

Opening his mouth to respond, Sengoku's attention turned to the waitress as their food arrived.  Kamio was relieved – as well as amazed – at the quickness of the restaurant staff and resolved to tip the waitress well.  She had saved him from a conversation he was not willing to have at the moment.

He looked down at his plate as she put it in front of him.  Chicken Caesar salad.  A simple, relatively safe, and a European dish to order.

"How do you know I'm not a vegetarian?" he asked suddenly.

Sengoku looked horrified.

"I didn't even think of that!" he exclaimed worriedly.  "Are you?"

He answered bluntly, "No."

The orange-haired boy blinked while turning the conversation over in his head.  Then he smiled languidly at Kamio, who was already eating.

"You made a joke," he told him as he lifted some of his ramen noodles to his mouth.

"People do occasionally make jokes."

"I know, I know."

They ate the rest of the meal in tolerable silence.

                                                                     *  *  *

"Ne, Kamio-kun, you didn't finish your meal," Sengoku told him, stretching his arms above his head as he gazed at the vice-captain of Fudomine.

He said truthfully, "I wasn't hungry."

He was never hungry, really.  Maybe it was why he was so thin, but his appetite had never become a high priority in his life, especially during the year when all hell had broken loose at Fudomine.

_Kamio__, take care of yourself._

He remembered Tachibana-san saying that to him once during that fateful year.  Naturally, he had wanted to shrug it off, but with his future captain's eyes boring into him, he couldn't.  He'd only missed lunch three days in a row, and he had been shocked when Tachibana-san had noticed.

"You should eat more," Sengoku's voice broke in.  "You're too skinny as it is."

"Yeah, yeah," Kamio responded flippantly, shoving his hands into his pockets.  The sky was beginning to darken, and he was starting to feel the chill that came along with it.  He hadn't brought a jacket with him either.

Sengoku took one look at his shivering form.  "Are you cold?"

"No," Kamio lied.

Sengoku sighed at the obvious falsehood, taking off his own black jacket and putting it around Kamio's shoulders.  Kamio started to protest, but Sengoku had stepped back, causing Kamio to grip the knee-length jacket to prevent it from falling onto the grass.

Kamio thrust it back to him, trying to remember his manners as he did so.  "Thanks but no thanks."

"Nope, nope."  Sengoku backed away from the object, hands in the air.  "It isn't the gentlemanly thing to let someone freeze to death."

"Well, I'm not a girl now, am I?"

"Common courtesy doesn't have to extend only to the ladies," the orange-haired boy pointed out.

Frowning slightly yet again, Kamio accepted the jacket, putting his arms through the sleeves that were a little too big for him.  The jacket was somewhat large for him overall, so he settled for pulling the lapels over his chest instead.

"Besides," Sengoku added sweetly, "you're prettier than a lady anyway."

Kamio scowled darkly at him, face blushing slightly.  "I don't understand why they call you Lucky Sengoku.  Your tongue gets you into hot water."

"My tongue gets me into lots of places," Sengoku hinted slyly.

He flushed again.  "Urusai!"

Sengoku shrugged casually, smiling playfully at Kamio.  In response, Kamio pulled the jacket closer to himself, still feeling the bite of the coming evening.

"It's not even that chilly out yet.  You must have a really low tolerance for the cold," the All-Japan player remarked casually as he shoved his hands in and out of his pockets.

Sighing, Kamio, as if he was told that on a regular basis, informed him, "I'm anemic."

Turning his head around quickly, Sengoku met his eyes with small surprise.  "Oh!  Really?  I didn't know that."

He paused and thought for a moment, and when Kamio was about to reply, "Yes, really", Sengoku asked, "So is that why you didn't finish your dinner?"

"I'm anemic, not diabetic or anything."

The sarcastic response was meant to draw Sengoku's attention away from him, but the gaze remained.  Kamio began to feel uncomfortable under the perceptive eyes that were so useful on the tennis courts.  He shifted his feet and, after what seemed like a moment, spun around to walk home by himself.

"Hey!  Where are you going without me?" the voice called out expectantly.

He didn't pause in his steps, shouting over his shoulder, "I'm going home!"

Footsteps ran to catch up to him.  "But you still have my coat!"

Looking down, Kamio realized he was right and cursed silently.  Sengoku came up then, and he briefly considered tossing the coat at him and running home by himself.  With his speed, he could easily outrun the Yamabuki player.

All thoughts of escape immediately vanished as Sengoku grabbed his wrist, panting only slightly from the brief sprint.  The other boy gripped it tightly, and Kamio winced as felt the pale flesh ache from the strain.

"Ow!  Let go!" Kamio tugged in vain to release his captured wrist.

Sengoku blinked once and looked down at their hands.  Realizing he was hurting the other boy, he released it quickly, backing up a step while saying, "I'm sorry, Kamio-kun.  Really."

Holding his wrist protectively to his chest, he eyed Sengoku, noticing the sincerity in the tone and the subtle meaning to his apology.  He rubbed his wrist absentmindedly, trying hard not to think about the incident and the taunts the other boy's teammate had thrown at him.

_I heard they were on a losing streak._

He shrugged the memory away quickly, doing the same physically.  Attempting a joke, he said, "If you didn't want me to take your coat home with me, you should have just said so."

The orange-haired boy smiled brightly at having been forgiven.  "Oh, yes, that was silly of me.  I thought you might steal it for a second."

Kamio replied immediately, "I'd have stolen it in less than a second."

Companionable silence reigned again as the two walked down the street and past the multitude of shops.  Kamio liked to look in the windows without really going in, for simply looking at objects through thin glass prevented the future sorrow of not having enough money to buy them.  Kicking pebbles along the street, he stopped in front of one glass display, a familiar sight to him whenever he traveled these streets.

He pressed his face against the window, hands touching the glass without concern for prints.  It was beautiful as a display, and magnificent to behold.  He imagined running his hands over it, feeling the smooth surface glide effortlessly under his fingertips.  Closing his eyes, he envisioned splendor and the exquisite touch of harmonious brilliance.

"Do you play?" the soft voice broke in quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful state of mind the usually temperamental tennis player held.

He paused momentarily before answering.  "I used to."

He didn't expound on his answer, and Sengoku didn't press him to.  The other boy waited patiently behind him as Kamio stared enraptured at the black baby grand piano, fingers occasionally tapping melodies on the exterior of the glass.

Fingers rapped too harshly on the surface, and Kamio tore his gaze away almost violently.  "Okay, I'm done.  Sorry to make you wait."

"No, it was my pleasure," Sengoku replied amiably.  He tilted his head to the side appraisingly.  "Don't you want to come in and see it?  Maybe you could try it out…"

Kamio shook his head fervently, removing his hands from the window and shoving them in the pockets of Sengoku's coat.  "No, not today."

It was the typical response he'd always repeated to himself whenever he'd felt the urge to simply enter the store and ask to play the enticing instrument.  But Sengoku didn't know that, or if he did, he simply remained quiet about and left Kamio to his own devices.

Thankful for it, he turned around and began heading down the street again.  Sengoku soon fell into step beside him, the leisurely but sure steps comforting in a way.  They walked a few blocks by themselves; the streets were unusually empty for a fair-weather evening.

"Ahh!" Sengoku suddenly cried.  "I forgot!"

"Forgot what?" Kamio asked, himself forgetting that before today he had disliked the other player tremendously.

Sengoku checked his watch and rolled back onto the balls of his feet anxiously.  "Oh, no!  I'm supposed to meet Banji in fifteen minutes for tennis practice!  And I have to go home to get my stuff!"

"What are you doing meeting for practice so late?"

"Oh, I'm trying to change my tennis!" Yamabuki's star player replied cheerfully and indifferently.

Kamio's eyebrows creased in thought.  "Why?  You made the All-Japan team as a junior."

"That didn't take me very far in the tournament, now did it?" he responded, referring to his matches with Seigaku's Momoshiro and, of course, Kamio himself.  "Besides, I can't always rely on my eyesight to win matches."

"Like I rely on my speed?" Kamio shot back bluntly, fully aware that he was being irrational and partly because he did rely on his speed.  He flexed his fingers warily, reminded of the many uses for his special ability.

Sengoku shook his head.  "Not really.  I think I just thought too much of my luck and skill after being selected for that All-Japan.  I didn't really hone my skills after that."

He smiled as he looked at Kamio.  "But you…you were really awesome.  It was a complete defeat for me."

Kamio felt his face grow hot due to the unexpected compliment, and he was reminded of many who had given him similar compliments before and not just for tennis.  "Not really.  We went into tiebreak…"

"No, it was."

He lifted his eyes up and met Kamio's, and the red-haired boy could see the truth and admiration reflecting from them.  Sengoku took a step towards him, and he shifted his tennis bag so as not to show discomfiture at the movement.

"Maa, Kamio-kun," the voice said softly.  "I really have to be going now.  I hope I won't offend you by not walking you home?"

"I told you before, don't treat me like a girl," Kamio spat out before he could help himself.  He silently berated himself for the harsh tongue; Sengoku was only trying to be nice, after all.

Instead of looking hurt, Sengoku laughed out loud.  He stepped even closer then, and with a fluid movement, the taller boy took a hold of Kamio's chin lightly with one hand, tilting his head up.

"I can't help it.  I really like you, Kamio-kun."

And with that, Sengoku bent down, his lips ghosting across the left side of Kamio's face, and Kamio felt heat spread across his face again at the intimate gesture.  The hand on his chin tightened, tilting his head up farther, and he met Sengoku's eyes again before the other's face came closer.

Kamio thought he might pass out.

He never got a chance to, however, as the red convertible that so spelled doom raced past them yet again, honking its horn loudly and causing the two boys to jump as far away from each other as possible.  

Catching his breath, he thought he glimpsed Sengoku shooting dangerous looks at the red monstrosity before the boy glanced at his watch and realized the time.  With a brief yelp, the taller boy turned around and began to run off.

Kamio felt vaguely insulted.

"Hey!"

Turning around to look back at the stationary redhead, Sengoku winked and waved a hand over his shoulder.

"Sorry, have to run!"

"What about your jacket, idiot?!"

"You can just keep it for me until then!"

Fudomine's vice captain frowned, fingering the jacket while considering whether to keep it for now or rip it to shreds.

He shouted back, "Until when?!"

The orange-haired boy smiled suggestively, winking again for good measure.  He slowed down slightly before he reached the corner, turning sideways so as to see the other boy more clearly.

"Oh, whenever we run into each other.  And I'll make sure we do meet again, Kamio-kun."

And, finally turning the corner, Yamabuki's lucky Sengoku was lost from his view.

Perplexed, Kamio frowned in his confusion.  He took less than a moment to gather his thoughts and began walking in the opposite direction.

His hands were suddenly cold.

He shoved them into his pockets without thinking and immediately realized.

_Damn him._

He felt his hands grow warmer.

Author's Notes:  Hmm…my second PoT story.  Not bad, as I never really had time to work on it.  Story notes…Kamio seems like he might have anemia due to his physical characteristics – he's thin, pale, and looks constantly tired among other things.  The ending is a little vague, and all I'll say is that it's probably not the first thing that pops into mind when you read it.  

I'm actually happy to be posting this story – I had an idea for this a while ago, and it just stuck in my mind.  I write stuff that really inspires me.  Hopefully, I'll be inspired more throughout the year.


End file.
